


The Kissing Bough

by mad_martha



Series: Checkmate Series [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M, Roncentric, Yule story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron gets to spend the season of goodwill with all his loved ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kissing Bough

**Author's Note:**

> I've done some research into Yule customs and have come to the conclusion that while there are things that seem to be commonly celebrated, the whole package still varies wildly depending on where you look and who you ask. Which makes perfect sense to me, because it's not as though everyone celebrates Christmas or any other festival in precisely the same way either. So in the end I cherry-picked the bits I liked the best, threw in a few ideas of my own, and came up with the wizard tradition of Yule … as celebrated by this Harry's people anyway.

"Um ... about Christmas," Ron said to Harry, and he felt annoyed with himself for his hesitancy.

"What about it?" Harry asked.  He pushed a pint towards Ron.  "I got you a Merlins, by the way."

"Ta.  Yeah ... Mum says I have to go home for Christmas.  All the family are going to be there and it's ... well, it's a family thing.  You know?"  He sighed, wondering if Harry _would_ understand when his own family was so very different.  "Look, she'll throw a wobbly if I'm not there, and it's just not worth that."

"That's okay.  It's a family thing for me too."  Harry seemed maddeningly calm about it as he sipped his drink.  "When do you have to go - Christmas Eve?"

"Yeah, pretty much.  And she expects me to stay right through Boxing Day."

Harry smiled.  "So you'll still be okay to come to the Yule celebration at the coven on the solstice first.  You might miss cutting the mistletoe at the Holy Oak, that's five days after the new moon, but you can come for the log hunt and house dressing and the vigil, and there's always a brilliant party in the evening."

Ron felt a surge of relief.  He'd forgotten that Harry and his family probably didn't celebrate Christmas.  It wasn't that he'd been expecting a confrontation about the arrangements, because Harry wasn't a confrontational person, but he'd been hoping to spend at least part of the holiday with him and his mother's plans for Christmas had seemed designed to preclude that.  Mrs. Weasley had very mixed feelings about Harry; she liked him as a person but she strongly disapproved of his hippy-ish lifestyle and upbringing, and she didn't approve of Ron's relationship with him.  He was welcome to pop in very occasionally for tea at the Weasley house but anything more than that was discouraged, at least partly because, for some odd reason, Mrs. Weasley also suspected him of having designs upon Ron's sister Ginny.  Ron's one attempt to reassure her that this wasn't the case had backfired rather badly, resulting in maternal indignation and his sister's feelings being wounded.  (Harry laughed himself into stitches when he heard the story, which Ron didn't understand at all.)

This way Ron would be able to do both and he was so pleased by this that he became quite mellow for the rest of the evening, glossing over the petty aggravations of his working day at the twins' business and making plans for the inevitable Christmas shopping the following weekend.  Harry didn't have much to get; Ron had noticed this before, but now it made more sense if Harry's family didn't celebrate Christmas.  It also made sense of the one previous Christmas visit Ron had made to Harry's people when they were both still at school - it had all seemed quite Christmassy in appearance at James Potter's house, but had been different in a way that Ron hadn't been able to put a finger on at the time.  He'd assumed then that it was something to do with it being Boxing Day, but now he thought he understood.

He didn't make the mistake of assuming that he _definitely_ understood, though.  He knew enough about Harry's family now not to assume anything, but he couldn't help thinking - rather ungenerously - that it would be more fun to stay with the coven than it would to spend the whole Christmas period at The Burrow.

 

~~~

 

Life upon leaving school had not worked out as Ron had hoped.  His exam passes had been good but not brilliant and while this might not have been a problem in a different year, for this year at least it had proved to be unfortunate.  His first choice of job had been curse-breaking like his brother Bill, followed by becoming an Auror, but both the curse-breakers and the Aurors had only been recruiting in very limited numbers and consequently they could afford to pick and choose from a particularly good crop of school-leavers.

So with great reluctance Ron had taken the Ministry entrance examination and he had passed the written exam, but somehow he failed the interview that followed.  His mother told him that they too were probably not recruiting at present, but his father had been more blunt.

"Your school record's against you," Arthur Weasley told him, troubled.  "Too many detentions, too many notes of troublemaking and defying the teachers on your file.  I warned you before that these things can follow you through life, Ron, especially at the Ministry.  At present only the Legal Department and Department of International Cooperation are recruiting, and they're not going to take on an apprentice with a track record of rule-breaking.  I'm sorry, but you're going to have to set your sights lower for a while and try to clean up your slate a little."

Ron had simmered about this for quite a while.  His instinctive reaction was to tell himself that he would excel in some other way and make them regret that they'd snubbed him, but other avenues were thin on the ground.  So in the end he'd accepted an offer from the twins to work for them at their Diagon Alley shop until he found something better.  He was far from satisfied by this; it didn't pay very much and wasn't nearly active enough to satisfy the almost overwhelming physical and mental restlessness that often troubled him, but he didn't have many other options.

On top of that, he didn't get to see Harry as much as he wanted as Harry was busy travelling the country with his father and uncles, doing whatever it was that the four older men did.  This probably pleased Ron's mother, who was deeply troubled by the idea that one of her sons could be gay, but it was another thing that made Ron seethe with the injustices of life.  He had no idea _why_ he found Harry so attractive; he only knew that when he was with his friend he felt more contented, more at peace with himself and the world, than he felt anywhere or with anyone else.  Not being able to spend time with him made Ron tense, irritable and unhappy.

It was probably just as well that Harry seemed to return his feelings.  Ron was self-aware enough to worry, in the privacy of his own mind at least, about what he might have been driven to if Harry had been indifferent to him on top of everything else.

At lunchtime on the 21st December (and having escaped his mother's grumbles only very narrowly at breakfast), Ron served his last customer, put away a pile of boxes, swept up the rubbish that always seemed to collect on the shop floor, and hung his apron on its hook at the back of the shop.  Freedom at last.  He checked his knapsack for Harry's present, then stopped off at Lush & Toper's to buy a gallon flagon of perry as a guest-gift, before finding the portkey Harry had given him the week before and letting it whisk him away.

The Running Hare Coven, of which Harry's mother was a member, was part of a commune living in an old farm complex outside of Totnes in Devon.  They were surprisingly close to the town, in fact, although the Muggles living locally had only the vaguest awareness of the commune's presence.  The farm had been a sizeable one when it had still operated as a purely agricultural business, but the thatched farmhouse and most of the associated buildings had long since been converted.  The commune kept poultry, goats and pigs, and grew kitchen garden-type crops on a modest scale, but their main trade was hand-crafted goods and natural medicines, both of which they were well known for in the magical community.  They also made a small amount of cheese which they sold to a shop in Totnes along with free range eggs from their hens, ducks and occasional geese.  The number of coven members varied from season to season, with a small core group who lived at the commune permanently.  Lily Evans had joined them shortly before leaving school, and although she travelled extensively she had permanent quarters at the commune.

Ron had stayed with Harry there for the first time at the beginning of the summer, just after they'd left school.  Although initially uneasy - the commune and coven lived rather different lives to the way he'd been raised - he'd enjoyed the week he spent there, finding the atmosphere relaxed and the people very welcoming and accepting, especially of his relationship with Harry.  Despite Harry telling him that two men together was not a problem, it had taken seeing it with his own eyes for Ron to understand that he wouldn't encounter the negativity from Harry's people that he experienced with his own.  Not that there had been any quarrels at home about it precisely, but there was an underlying tension between Ron and his parents (his mother especially) regarding the whole topic of Harry which he kept expecting to flare up into unpleasantness.  It hadn't yet, but something told him he'd better not be late going home for Christmas or the simmering cauldron that was his family when they were all crammed together in one unfeasibly small house might erupt for once.

The portkey landed him in the courtyard that lay at the centre of the commune's complex.  In the summer this had been a bright, sunny spot that had been the focal point for community activities and a useful place for everyone to eat al fresco meals together.  It had also been full of chickens and other poultry that had escaped their pens just before he arrived.  Ron recalled Harry's ineffectual efforts to round up the birds with a grin, but today there were no fowl disasters.  Instead, there was a large holly tree planted in a giant wooden tub in the centre of the courtyard and one of Harry's 'uncles', Sirius Black, was trying to marshal a handful of children to help him decorate it with an assortment of ornaments from a big crate.  He grinned when Ron appeared and broke off what he was doing to clasp his hand.

"If it isn't Ron Weasley!  We were wondering when you'd arrive.  The blessings of the season to you!"  A grin curled the corner of the older man's mouth.  "He's in the kitchen - follow the shouting."

Ron gave him a sceptical look - Harry, shouting? - but Sirius only waved him off, so he shouldered his knapsack and headed for the farmhouse door.  The old farmhouse was a communal building housing the kitchen and other main facilities that were used by everyone; most private rooms were spread out in the other buildings and there was a small 'dormitory' block for the children. 

It wasn't Harry's voice he heard, as he ducked under the low lintel and closed the farmhouse door behind him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry, you can't sleep in the hayloft at this time of year!"

That was Harry's mother Lily, uncharacteristically loud and cross-sounding.  Ron blinked, surprised.  It was more like _his_ mother to shout like that.

Inside the door was a kind of portico with, of all things, a small water fountain in the middle.  A stone figure of a stylised and generously proportioned woman held an urn which poured water into a granite bowl below; around the edge of the bowl hung a number of handmade pottery cups.  This was a ritual Harry had instructed him in at the start of the summer and while it wasn't Ron's particular belief system he didn't want to offend anybody - or any _thing_ for that matter - so he took one of the cups and dipped it into the water, ducking his head to the statue in a kind of reverence and taking a drink.  And he shivered.  Damn, that water was _cold_.

"I'm not spending another night in the dormitory!" Harry was saying in an unusually grumpy tone, when Ron stepped inside the kitchen.  "It's all right for you, you didn't have to put up with Vera's monster twins jumping all over you and gangs of little girls racing around and giggling for half the night!  And anyway, Ron's supposed to be staying with me and I don't see why I have to be the only adult who's celibate for Yule just because other people were too bloody selfish to let Morveth know they were planning to bring guests!"

It hadn't occurred to Ron that Yule might cause just as many family rows as Christmas did.

"I didn't say you had to stay in the dormitory!" Lily retorted, sounding thoroughly exasperated.  "The two of you could sleep in Hector's spare room, he won't mind - "

"Of course he won't mind!  He likes to watch, remember?  _And_ join in, if he thinks he can get away with it!  That's why you and Dad wouldn't sleep over there at Ostara!"

"Oh _Harry -_ "  Lily suddenly realised that someone was standing just behind her and jumped, gasping.  "Oh, it's you!  Merlin, you move very quietly for someone so big!  The blessings of Yule to you, Ron."  She reached up to kiss his cheek and gave him a bright smile.  "Don't worry, you're not sleeping in the hayloft!"

There was a sudden stampede as half a dozen children, mostly girls and all under the age of ten, raced through the kitchen, all shouting madly.  Ron, Lily and Harry flattened themselves against the huge kitchen table to get out of their way and the kids tumbled out into the courtyard, letting the door swing wide and an icy wind blast into the house.

Numerous adult voices shrieked _"SHUT THE DOOR!"_ from various parts of the house so Ron, who was the nearest, nipped out and pulled it shut again.

"You're right," Harry told his mother indignantly, when they had all recovered from this.  "We're not sleeping in the hayloft because I'm grabbing Ron and we're taking the next portkey to Barbados!  I'm not spending another night with those horrible brats."

"You could try for a little tolerance, Harry!  They're only children _._ "

"I already tried being tolerant and I had a sleepless night!"  When Harry turned to Ron, his green eyes were flashing with a temper Ron had only seen once or twice before.  "We're never having kids!" he stormed.

"Suits me!"  Ron buried the snigger that wanted to erupt, knowing he'd have more fun teasing Harry about this later when he'd calmed down.  Besides, Harry made a rather daft picture that he wanted to enjoy; as well as the odd multicoloured patchwork waistcoat he was wearing over his more normal gear of faded jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt, he had a wreath of holly and ivy on his head - as did Lily - and he was brandishing a long wooden spoon, which he'd presumably grabbed at some point for emphasis.

"You're impossible - "Lily began, but then someone yelled for her and she let out a little cry of annoyance.  "You're not sleeping in the hayloft and that's final!" she shot at Harry, and she rushed away.

Ron and Harry were left to stare at each other in the suddenly quiet kitchen.

"I'd invite you back to our house," Ron said, "but it's probably worse there, what with all of Percy and Charlie's kids and my Gran staying as well."

"Barbados," Harry said firmly, pointing at him with the spoon.  "You, me, a hammock and some rummy drinks in coconuts.  No kids or relatives."

Ron grinned.  "Works for me, mate, but you'll have to cough up the dosh for the portkey - I'm skint."  He heaved the gallon jug onto the table, which was already heavily laden with food in various stages of preparation.  "I bought some perry for the party."

"Great!  Let's drink it now."

James Potter wandered into the kitchen, hands in his jeans pockets.  The resemblance between the him and Harry was always remarkable, but never more so than now when he was dressed nearly identically to his son with the same kind of patchwork waistcoat and a wreath in his untidy dark hair.

"Maevi's found a double bed-roll you can use and Moony says he'll help you fix some extra warming charms on the loft," he said.  The corner of his mouth twitched up into a mischievous half-grin.  "'Ullo, Coppertop!"

"Hullo, Mr. Potter."  Ron was mostly resigned to Harry's father calling him 'Coppertop' (or worse - Copper _knob_ ), but only because he realised that making a fuss only encouraged the man to come up with even more annoying nicknames.  There was more than a passing resemblance between James and Sirius Black and Ron's twin brothers.

"Too bad Mum reckons we're not sleeping in the hayloft," Harry said to his father sourly.

"Better not tell her, then," James said, unconcerned.  "Merlin!  Where does she _think_ the pair of you are going to sleep?"

"In Hector's spare room!"

James let out a rude crack of laughter.  "I'd pay good money to see that!  Trouble is, so would he!"

"Yeah, yeah, very funny."  Harry shot Ron a desperate look.  "You don't mind sleeping in the hayloft, do you?"

"There aren't any rats, are there?" Ron asked warily.

"There's half a dozen kneazles around here and just as many cats," James said.  "We can make sure a few of them spend the night with you, and if there _are_ any rodents - other than Pete - they'll see 'em off."

Weighed against the possibility of sleeping in a dormitory full of pre-adolescents or, worse, sharing quarters with a peeping tom, Ron decided the hayloft was a fair enough deal.  It would certainly be better than having to share with two or more of his family at The Burrow.

"Works for me," he said.  "Where can I put my stuff?"

"Stick it with mine in Mum's room for now," Harry said.  "We'll go and take a look at the loft while the brats are dressing the tree.  Thanks Dad," he added belatedly, looking over his shoulder at James.

"Anything for peace and quiet," James said, amused.

The house seemed to be full of people bustling around and having loud conversations as Harry led Ron upstairs.  The simple farmhouse building had been decorated with bunches and swags of evergreen foliage everywhere and when Ron glanced through the doorway of the big dining room and meeting hall he remembered from the summer, it was already being set up for the promised feast later.

"We have dinner at sundown," Harry said.  "It's a bit early, but there's the ritual around the tree outside first and then there's cakes and ale and whatnot all through the evening.  It's better not to have the feast later anyway, because otherwise no one would be able to make it through the all-night party."

"We stay up all night?" Ron asked, surprised.

"I thought I told you.  There's games and stories and stuff to help everyone stay awake, so we can welcome the returning sun in the morning."  Harry shot him a quick grin.  " _Then_ we can go to bed."

"So why aren't you in the room next to your mum?" Ron asked, as Harry led him down the passage to his mother's rooms.

Harry sighed.  "Because Sirius and Remus are in there.  Everyone in the coven decided to come home for Yule this year, which wouldn't have been a problem but at the last minute Vera decided to invite her new partner and her mother as well.  She only has a single room because she doesn't stay here much, so her mother is sleeping there and everyone else had to move around to free up a double for her and Rudi.  Since Sirius and Remus aren't actually residents here it was easier to move them out of one of the guest rooms and into Mum's quarters, but that means I have to fit in wherever.  And you, of course, which really pisses me off because you were properly invited ages ago."

"It's okay," Ron told him.

"It's not," Harry grumbled.  He opened his mother's door and gestured to a big travel bag standing against the wall.  "Put your stuff with mine over there for now, then we'll go and check out the hayloft.  It shouldn't be too bad, actually.  It's dry, the roof is sound, and we won't have to put up with anyone else in the building because it's over the goat barn."

"Handy if you like goats," Ron suggested, a grin curling the corner of his mouth.

"They bleat too much," Harry retorted, straight-faced.

"Yeah.  A lot like a room full of Hufflepuffs, I reckon …"  Ron laughed when Harry landed a half-hearted punch on his arm.  "You handed that one to me, Potter, admit it!"

"You're an arse, Weasley!"

"I thought you liked my arse?"

"I like it better without the jeans."  Before Ron could comment on this, Harry pointed up to the doorway where a circular creation of green leaves, mainly holly and ivy, hung.  In the middle of the circle hung a clove-studded orange and there was a very small piece of mistletoe hanging underneath.  "Oh look - a kissing bough.  Bad luck not to snog under it."  He pushed Ron back against the door jamb and pressed against him tantalisingly, rising up on his toes a little to reach his taller partner's mouth.

Ron tucked his fingers into the belt-loops of Harry's jeans, holding him securely in place as they kissed.  He tasted of ginger and citrus, and Ron was very aware of the curious spice-and-herbs smell of Harry's clothes and hair, an aroma that always seemed to hang around the commune.

"You're a bit keen already," he noted when they parted, and he couldn't resist giving a little thrust of his hips against Harry.

"And you aren't?"  Harry squeezed his rear playfully, but ducked out of reach when Ron would have tried to take things further.  "Later!  Let's make sure we have somewhere to sleep first, or we really will be heading for Barbados!"

 

~~~

 

The hayloft wasn't so bad.  Most of the hay was stored in proper bales and there was a reasonably clear space in the middle of the floor that, when brushed, was big enough for a thick double sleeping pad.  Remus Lupin had gone a step further and moved a couple of wooden pallets into the space to lift the pad off the floor.  With a couple of old rugs laid down and some worn blankets thrown over the few bits and pieces of agricultural equipment that were in the loft, it was quite acceptable to Harry and Ron.

"Just make sure you keep the warming charms at the level I've set," Remus warned.  "Don't get cold, but don't set them so high that you risk a fire.  Use cold witchlight for lighting, all right?"

"Thanks, Remus," Harry said sincerely, and he and Ron spent half an hour making up the bed with a huge pile of blankets and assorted pillows sent over by one of the women in the farmhouse. 

"We'll have to hike over to the house for a shower in the morning," Harry commented, as they collected their bags, "but that's not a big deal.  I've slept in worse places while I've been travelling with Dad and the others."

"What have you all been doing since the summer anyway?" Ron asked him curiously.

"Oh, you know - the usual," Harry said vaguely.  "We were in the Western Isles last month - Merlin, that was cold!" 

He rattled on about the places they'd seen and some of the weird things they'd done since Ron had stayed with them, and it was all fascinating and amusing, but by the time they headed outside again, Ron already knew that he wasn't going to hear what Harry, James and the others had _really_ been doing.  Harry had effectively avoided the subject - and not for the first time.  It was a masterful performance and perhaps that was the only reason why Ron never actually called him on it, even though he'd spent two weeks with them all in Derbyshire in August and _still_ failed to discover what they were doing.  He was desperately curious, even possibly a little suspicious, but such was his fascination with Harry that he actually, in some perverse corner of his mind, enjoyed hearing him verbally slide away from a direct question while never actually seeming to do so.  It was a performance worthy of a Slytherin, and all the more intriguing coming from an honest little Hufflepuff who supposedly couldn't bluff to save his life.

Before they went downstairs, Ron remembered the parcel for Harry that he had in his bag and considering the programme of events for the evening this seemed like as good a time to give it to him as any.  There might not be an opportunity later.

"Got you a present," he said, straightening up with it in his hand.  "I know you don't do Christmas, so you could open it now if you want - "

He stopped for Harry was standing there with a parcel in his hands too, grinning at him. 

"Snap!  Yule blessings to you, mate."

They exchanged presents and sat down on the edge of the bed to open them.

"It's from me and Mum, actually," Harry said more diffidently, as he picked carefully at a corner of the package Ron had given him.  "Mate - could you have put any more tape on this?" he added, amused.

"I'm not all that good at wrapping stuff.  Sorry."

"No, it's brilliant.  I reckon I'll need a hacksaw to get into it …"

"You'll manage," Ron said with a snort.  His present was large and squashy, and surprisingly weighty.  Years of being told to save the wrapping paper for other things made him unpick the folds carefully, especially as the paper was very thick and patterned with dried leaves and petals that seemed to be set into the paper somehow.  "Is this handmade?"

"What - the paper?  Yeah.  Phineas makes it in the workshop.  Do you remember?  I showed you in the summer."

"Cripes, yeah.  I didn't know you could add stuff to it to make a pattern."  Ron was genuinely intrigued.  "Does he sell it?  Flourish and Blotts sell handmade paper and it costs a small fortune."

"There's a shop in Totnes that buys it from him," Harry said.  "I don't think he'd go much for the idea of selling it to a shop in Diagon Alley.  The commune craftsmen are big on producing and selling stuff locally if they can."

"Huh.  Why?"

Harry shrugged.  "They're the same about the food they sell.  Local food for local people.  Does your mum shop at the wizard market outside Exeter?  Because they sell a lot of stuff there as well."

Ron barely heard this, though.  He set the paper aside carefully, gazing in wonder at the folded bundle in his lap.  He stood up and shook out the folds.  It was a hooded robe made of patchwork suede in warm earth colours, with a band around all the edges and cuffs of lighter suede with appliquéd green oak leaves, and a lining of some thick soft material.  The front plackets had three toggle fasteners made of small pieces of horn or antler.

"Maevi makes those robes," Harry remarked, watching.  "Mostly she does it to commission, since her main business is making handbags and knapsacks, but she makes things like coats and waistcoats for the bards and storytellers too."  He grinned.  "I had to insist she made it really plain, because she usually covers them with scenes from myths and legends.  Do you like it?"

"It's brilliant," Ron said, and he meant it.  He wasn't about to tell Harry that this was the first brand new robe he'd had since he went to school, though; instead he took his own (handed-down) robe off and put it on.  It was as warm as toast, the kind of robe he could wear without having to bother with a cloak over the top when he went outside.  "Thanks, mate!"

"Glad you like it."  Harry smiled at him.  "It was Mum's idea, she'll be dead chuffed."

"Open yours," Ron encouraged him, sitting down next to him again.

Getting the wrapping paper off Ron's parcel without tearing it was impossible, so Harry ripped at it with a will until he'd revealed a polished wooden box.

"What is it?" he demanded, intrigued, examining the brass clasp.

"It's second-hand," Ron confessed.  "But it's a good one and I liked it better than the new ones I looked at anyway."

Harry flipped up the catch and carefully opened the lid.  "Oh, wicked!"

It was a chess set.  The board was made of finely crafted squares of pale ash and dark mahogany set into a heavy mahogany base; it divided into two halves for storage that could be slotted together seamlessly.  This lifted out of the carrying box to reveal underneath two felt-lined boxes containing, in perfectly fitted slots, the sets of 'white' and 'black' chessmen, again made of ash and mahogany.  They were beautifully carved in the traditional form, rather than in one of the modern styles that sometimes used the characters from stories and legends. 

A couple of tiny snores drifted up from the box.  The chessmen were all asleep.

"Lazy gits," Ron said, amused.

"Better not wake them up, they'll only start shouting," Harry said, and he carefully set the board back on top of them.  "Ron, this is brilliant!  I've wanted my own chess set ever since I started playing against you."

"It won't give you any advantages!" Ron warned, grinning.  "I'll have your clothes off you, Potter."

"You'll have that anyway, won't you?"  He leaned back to kiss Ron, but pulled away when Ron wanted to take it further.  "No you don't!  We've got a Yule Log to find."

"Are we going to get any chance to shag today?" Ron grumbled as they made their way down the ladder from the loft.

Harry only laughed.

 

~~~

 

Hunting the Yule Log involved a bracing walk through the woods that surrounded the commune and formed part of its property.  Not everybody went along; there was a handful of adults to watch over all the children as they ran around and anyone else who wasn't needed to help put the finishing touches on the feast.  In fact, hunting the Yule Log was mostly a children's activity, but Harry took the opportunity to show Ron the Holy Oak that was so highly prized by the Running Hare Coven.  Mistletoe grew on a number of tree species, but on oak only rarely; thus any oak tree that was known to support mistletoe was revered by the British covens and carefully nurtured.

This particular oak tree was a venerable old gentleman with a huge trunk and wide spreading crown.  It grew at the inner edge of the woods and the area around it was strictly tended to ensure that no harm could come to the tree.  It was supporting quite a bit of mistletoe this year.  Ron also noticed the small carved wooden images hanging from some of the lower branches; mostly rounded and vaguely female figures, although there were also one or two rather obvious and exaggerated phalluses.

"It's for fertility," Harry said, when he saw Ron looking.  "The women hang them there mostly, when they want to have a baby and can't.  We don't have a sacred spring here, or they'd use that."

"What about the others?"

"Blokes who can't get it up.  Or they can get it up, but they want it to be better or bigger or something."

Ron snorted.

Harry grinned a little.  "There's a Grove God next to the path - I'll show you.  You're supposed to rub his cock for luck if you come here."

"Do what?" Ron said, startled, and Harry chuckled.

"You'll see."  He approached the oak tree, bowed, and pressed his hand against the trunk for a moment, then led Ron away along a path that circled around the tree.  "The point of Yule is that you're saying goodbye to one King for the year and welcoming another.  Litha to Yule is the Holly King's reign - "

"Litha?"

"Summer Solstice.  So from Summer Solstice to Winter Solstice is the Holly King's season, then at Yule we thank the Holly King with a feast - that's why there's a holly tree in the courtyard - and then we welcome in the Oak King by cutting the mistletoe five days after the new moon.  The Oak King's reign is from Yule to Litha."

"Right."  Ron wasn't sure that he bought any of this, but it didn't seem any odder than some of the Christian feasts and at least the things the coven did to celebrate genuinely seemed to relate to their religion.  No one had ever explained to him why a Christmas tree was actually part of Christmas.

"And here's the Grove God," Harry said, stopping beside a small statue by the side of the path. 

It was made of bronze and looked fairly old, judging by the patina on the metal and the amount of foliage growing around the base.  Ron's first thought was that it was actually Pan, for it had goaty legs and a tail.  There the resemblance ended, for the little man also had stag antlers and an enormous outsized phallus rearing up in front of him.  The head of it, unlike the rest of him, was bright and polished, shining in the weak winter sunlight.  Someone had hung a small wreath of holly around his neck and another made of ivy and some red winter berries was dangling at the base of his erection.

"The Romans called him Priapus," Harry said matter-of-factly, "but to us he's another form of Cernunnos - the horned god."  He reached out and rubbed the head of the phallus.  "It's supposed to be lucky, so …"

Feeling very weird indeed, Ron reached out and gingerly fondled the impressive organ.  It was shockingly cold.  "Reckon my Mum'd have a heart-attack if she saw me doing that," he said as they walked on.

Harry chuckled.  "She'd have an even bigger one if she saw you doing it to me!"

"Specially when she saw I wasn't using my _hand_ to polish your knob!"

"You'll have to show me later, I'm not really sure what you mean," Harry said slyly.

"Mate, I'd show you now if it wasn't so cold!"

"Yeah, it's a pity.  It's _really_ good luck to shag under the Holy Oak.  That's where they pitch the hut at Samhain for the high priestess and the King Stag."

Ron blinked at him.  "Are you saying that's where you …?"

Harry grinned at him.  "Yeah.  That's where I was conceived."

"I reckon that's about as much weird stuff as I can handle," Ron said, grimacing.

Harry sniggered.  "You're a prude, Weasley!"

"I want to think about your parents doing it about as much as I want to think about mine!"

"Yeah, I suppose it _is_ a bit weird if you're not used to it."  Harry looked at his face and laughed again.  "All right, changing the subject!  Let's see if we can find some stuff to decorate the log with."

They returned to the farmhouse with some sprigs of greenery and bunches of berries which they added to the pile on a trestle table that had been set up near the farmhouse door.  A large log was also resting there and a couple of the women were supervising the crowd of children as they decorated it. 

"Come on," Harry said, nudging Ron's elbow and backing away.  "I reckon we've got nearly an hour before the tree ceremony.  Let's grab a shower while everyone else is busy and get changed for the feast."

 

~~~

 

"Let's use the bathroom in the kids' block," Harry said.  "It's nearer and no one's going to be using it right now."

They grabbed their clean clothes and some towels and walked through the dormitories, Ron looking around with interest for this was part of the commune he hadn't seen on his previous visit.  In décor it was a lot like the rest of the residential buildings, but instead of separate rooms there were two long communal rooms with wooden bunk beds.  The boys were on the ground floor and the girls upstairs, with some separate bedrooms at either end of each dormitory for the adults who were supposed to be supervising the children.  All four of these separate rooms were clearly occupied by more than one person at present.

"Were you actually in the dorm with the boys last night?" Ron asked.

Harry shot him a grim look.  "Yep."

"Nice!  Why wasn't one of their parents keeping an eye on them?"

"Because their parents were too busy shagging!"

Harry showed him the boys' bathroom, which was equipped with a lavatory, three washbasins, a bathtub and a shower stall with three shower heads that was large enough to take more than one child at a time.

"Now it all becomes clear," Ron murmured, grinning.  "This is a bit like being back at school," he added.

"The Quidditch changing rooms?  Yeah, it is a bit."  Harry locked the door with a charm.  "Just in case the little sods come back here for some reason …"

"Good thinking."  Ron pushed him back up against the door, trapping him with his hands on either side of Harry's head.  "Need a hand undressing?"

Harry grinned at him and pretended to tut a little.  "Patience, Weasley!"

"I've been patient all afternoon," Ron pointed out.  "I haven't had a chance to touch you in too bloody long!"

"You had a great chance out by the Holy Oak," Harry pointed out, and he laughed when Ron expressed his opinion of this in two short, pithy words.  "Wasn't there something you were going to demonstrate for me, something about polishing my knob …"

Ron silenced him with a kiss, but Harry had great multi-tasking skills and his fingers were already busy unbuttoning Ron's jeans as they explored each other's mouths.

"Tell you what," he said breathlessly, when they broke apart, "maybe I'll just demonstrate on you, yeah?"

Ron groaned at the feel of a firm hand slipping through his fly to stroke and squeeze the length of his cock, but before he could say anything Harry slid to his knees, leaving Ron braced against the door, and was tugging his jeans and soft briefs down.  Then a warm, wet tongue slid tantalisingly over the head of his cock and he gasped.  One hand moved to grip his hip to steady him; the other busied itself fondling his balls and applying fingertip pressure in all the right places, while that talented mouth did incredible things to his cock.  Ron gave up and rested his weight on his hands, simply experiencing the intense pleasure of having his lover attend to him -

And just like that, Harry stopped.  Ron nearly shouted in frustration.

"Are you trying to kill me?!"

Harry stood up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and grinning wickedly.  Then he tugged his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulled it over his head, tossing it to one side, and began to unbutton his fly.

"Get 'em off, lover, and get in that shower!"

" _Harry!_ "  Ron was almost embarrassed to hear the whining plea in his voice, but Harry only laughed throatily.

"The sooner you get in the shower, the sooner you can fuck me," he suggested.  His green eyes were bright with amusement and lust behind his glasses.

Ron couldn't get his clothes off fast enough.

 

~~~

 

The tree ceremony was something Ron would probably have balked at being involved with had it been anywhere but here, surrounded by people for whom this was clearly a much-loved yearly feature of their lives. 

All the adults formed a circle around the holly tree in the courtyard at sundown and held hands, with the children forming their own circle in front of them.  The tree was lit up by a multitude of tiny witchlights dotted around its branches and bright little ornaments made of painted wood and salt-dough hung everywhere, gleaming.  Then the coven's high-priestess Maevi appeared, wearing a set of red and green robes and a startling headdress in the shape of a crescent moon, and made a long and emphatic speech thanking the Holly King for his favours and service over the past six months. 

Two musicians, one on a flute and the other on a hand-drum, struck up and everyone sang a song about the dying of the winter sun and the coming of spring while walking in a circle around the tree clockwise and then counter-clockwise holding hands.  They finished up by performing a circular dance around the tree, which involved weaving in and out of each other, hand over hand, and which Ron would have been completely bewildered by had it not been for just about everyone firmly steering him in the right direction when they took hold of his hands.

Maevi then declared it to be time for the feast and commanded the coven to take the Yule Log inside and place it on the fire.  Two of the men picked it up - with some effort, for it was quite a size and laden with decorations besides - and everyone followed them indoors.

Ron fell into step with Harry behind his parents and followed them as they strolled behind the others.

"Maevi likes her bit of melodrama, doesn't she?" Sirius remarked, sounding amused. 

"Trying to prove that she still has the leadership in her hands," Lily replied with a sigh.  "She's been under some pressure to step aside and let a younger woman take over.  She's not nearly as young as she looks, you know."

"They'd be foolish to do that," Remus said in a thoughtful tone.  "She's the most experienced priestess among the covens at present, especially since Gyda stepped down in Cumbria.  Besides, who would replace her?"

"You?" James asked Lily.

"Not likely!  I'm not here enough.  Morveth perhaps - I know she's frustrated at the way Maevi keeps everything tight in her fist.  Maevi's brought this on herself, you know.  She could have delegated some of the ceremonial work to Morveth or Nuala before now, but she insists on carrying out everything herself.  Some in the coven are getting restless and I can't blame them for it.  At the very least she should be allowing some of the younger women to stand in for her occasionally - they'll never learn otherwise."

"She wants her niece to succeed her," Peter Pettigrew remarked.  "She doesn't make a big secret of that.  She doesn't have a daughter of her own, so she wants her sister's daughter to take over."

"Which is moon-dreaming if so, because Luna is younger than Harry," Lily said rather sharply. 

Ron glanced at Harry, startled.  _Luna Lovegood?_ he mouthed.  Harry nodded slightly, then shook his head warningly and looked away.

They followed everyone into the house and through to the great candlelit communal room where the feast was to be held.  There was a huge fireplace at the far end of the room, and the community was gathering around in front of it to watch as the two bearers carefully settled the Yule Log in the grate among the kindling and stepped back.  Maevi rather dramatically waved her wand at the fireplace and the kindling burst into flames.  Everyone cheered.

"Now feast and make merry in the Holly King's name!" Maevi cried, and there was a happy scramble as they all hunted for seats at the enormous table.

"Wow," Ron said very quietly, as he sat down next to Harry and surveyed the table.

There were no separate courses at the coven's feasts; all of the dishes were loaded onto the table together, savoury and sweet, and you ate whatever you fancied in whatever order you chose.  To Ron it seemed like an odd combination of buffet and sit-down meal, but he rather liked it.  This way at least no one was stranded in the kitchen for all or part of the meal; he was tempted to suggest this way of dining to his mother, who always became very stressed at family occasions like Christmas and Easter.

And the array of dishes was formidable.  It wasn't until much later that Ron realised that a lot of what he had been eating was vegetarian, although there was chicken, fish and even a roast sucking pig as well; much of it was dishes he hadn't previously encountered, and all of it was delicious.  In keeping with the vaguely mediaeval tone of the meal, pies featured heavily along with a variety of dishes prepared and arranged to look like something other than what they actually were; balls of spiced meat shaped like pears, flowers made of carrots and radishes, decorated eggs made to look like birds.  There were also big jugs of drink all along the table, although what alcohol there was was fairly weak -

"Don't worry, the good stuff comes out later," Harry promised, as he topped up Ron's goblet with spiced fruit punch and pushed a dish of small mince pies - the traditional kind, containing fruit _and_ meat - towards him.

"You don't have a wreath, lad!" one of the men exclaimed suddenly, and there were cries of protest from the others.  A wreath of holly was produced from somewhere and plopped down on Ron's head to everyone's approval, and he was toasted by his nearest table companions with loud cries of _Waes Hael!_

It would have been ungracious not to laugh and join in, so Ron did so.

 

~~~

 

"Something bothering you about your lad, James?" Maevi asked bluntly.

James started and looked at her, wide-eyed.  "Sorry?"

"You've been watching him for the last ten minutes," Lily said.

"Sorry, sorry - no, it's not Harry.  Harry's fine."  James shrugged and picked at a slice of spiced pork and raisin pie on his plate.  "It's the other one I worry about."

"The redheaded lover-boy?"  Maevi contemplated Ron for a moment.  "He's a handsome specimen, I'll give him that.  Pity he's so closed-off and wary - he seems like a nice lad when he relaxes."

"Well, exactly."  James sighed.  "There's something about him that I can't quite put a finger on and it makes me twitchy.  He was in Slytherin at school - "

"James," Lily said sternly.

"I know, _I know!_   It's not like I want to hold that against him!  I just don't understand what they see in each other ..."  James broke off; his nearest companions were all giving him _looks_ , and Sirius's in particular was very mocking.  "Let me rephrase that," he said, annoyed.  "I don't understand the magic they throw off when they're around each other.  It's not just earth magic, you know it's not.  That's not a good enough explanation for the sheer amount of excess energy they produce.  Pete, back me up here!"

"It's true," Peter agreed.  "There must be something unusual about the Weasley kid's magic - it's not just Harry alone or _anyone_ could connect with him on a magical level and replicate the effect.  We've experimented a bit and although there's some synergy when he works with James - which I would expect because they're father and son - it doesn't happen with anyone else.  Certainly not on the scale of the magic he produced when the other lad was with us over the summer.  They were powering the wards on their own - "

"All of them?" Lily asked, surprised.

"You've no idea," James said wryly.

"I see your dilemma," Maevi said thoughtfully.  "On the one hand, having the pair of them produce that much energy would make your work so much easier.  But without some idea of why it happens, you really can't risk involving him."

"It's not just that," Remus said, swirling the mulled cider in his mug idly.  "We know so little about young Ron and he seems to be quite happy to have it that way.  Maybe that doesn't mean anything other than that he's very reserved - I imagine _I'd_ be reserved if I was brought up in a family of seven.  So perhaps there's nothing more than that to it, but without some sort of certainty ...  We just can't risk it, not in the work we do.  So much of the material we handle could be misused."

"He's curious about what we do," James remarked.  "Harry said as much to me recently."

"Anyone would be," Sirius said.  "He spent two weeks hanging around one of our billets.  If he's any kind of wizard of course he's going to wonder what we're doing, even during a down period.  The ward lattices alone must have got him thinking, if he has moderate smarts under all that red hair."

" _Is_ he any sort of wizard?" Maevi asked, raising her brows.  "What's he doing now that he's left school?"

"Keeping shop for those twin brothers of his," Lily said, "and he's not at all happy about it, according to Harry."

"That doesn't sound too promising."

"Doesn't mean a thing," Remus replied.  "We saw Dumbledore a week before Harry got his exam results and he said Minerva McGonagall was anticipating a particularly good year for NEWTs.  The job market got flooded with bright young things and even Harry got turned down by a number of places I would have expected to at least indicate an interest in him.  And Harry's disciplinary record is as clean as they come.  I don't think Ron can say the same, unfortunately.  I asked Harry and he said Ron had got very similar results to his, so he's got the brains and the magic."

"Got a temper to go with that red hair, has he?"

"If he has, we haven't seen it," James replied.  "He's very controlled.  My gut says he has, though."

"His mother certainly has," Lily said wryly.  "You might know her, Maevi - Molly Weasley, or Molly Prewett as she was before she married."

"Lillian Prewett's daughter?  Oho!  The plot thickens!"  Maevi chuckled.  "That'd explain why he looked like he was expecting us all to go skyclad and painted with woad when he first came here!"

"You _do_ know her!"

But Maevi shook her head.  "I've met her a time or two in the past.  She didn't much like having a mother who went off into trances and made prophecies; a very conventional sort of girl was Molly."  She shrugged.  "Some youngsters are like that, it's reactionary, a kind of defiance.  But Lillian was never one for coven life, you know, she's more of a kitchen-seer - all teacups and crystal balls, although that's well enough if it works for her.  And it does."  She looked thoughtful.  "Is there any sign that the lad has the Sight?  It'd certainly explain a lot, if he has it and he's repressing it.  I'd wager cobnuts to Sickles he _would_ repress it, with Molly for a mother.  But if he's gifted, why doesn't Lillian do something?"

"He's got a horoscope in the Divinatory Register that's seventy percent privacy locked," Peter said.

"Which is hardly reassuring, you have to admit," James added.

"Well," Maevi said with a sigh, "in lieu of any better suggestions, James, have you considered taking advantage of the solstice?"  James gave her a questioning look.  "I'd say with the important work you all do, the gods owe you a favour.  Tonight is the Holly King's night, so why not make a sacrifice on the Yule fire and ask Him for guidance?"

"Hm," James said, sceptical but wary of offending her.

"You've nothing to lose by it," Lily pointed out.

 

~~~

 

If Harry noticed his family with their heads together with the high priestess, making serious talk, he didn't think much about it.  They were always quietly discussing their work with people like Maevi, which was hardly surprising to him given what they all did.

And if he saw his father get up at one point to go and toss an offering of some kind onto the merrily burning Yule Log, and pause for a few moments in uncharacteristic contemplation before returning to the table, Harry wasn't about to say anything.

Festivals like Yule were a time when people turned to the gods for favours and answers - even men like James Potter who at any other time chose to let the gods pass them by ...

 

~~~

 

The idea of the all-night party was to watch over the Yule Log and ensure that it kept burning throughout the longest night of the year until sunrise the following morning, and to this end a number of means were employed to keep everyone awake, including storytelling, music and singing, and various games.  Ron hadn't really thought about how long the night would be, but certainly the feast seemed to take some time.  Nobody hurried in their eating, concentrating more on talking, and in many cases catching up with each other after some of the coven had been absent for a while.

The feast had started around four o'clock; it was nearly seven by the time some of the empty plates began to be cleared from the table and at that point by common consensus what was left was piled onto big platters, the rest of the empty dishes removed, and the table pushed back against the wall furthest from the fire.  New pitchers of drink, everything from homemade lemonade and fruit juices to ales, cider, perry and mulled wine, were brought out and left on the table with a collection of mugs, and the company was reminded that they could help themselves throughout the night.  The benches were also pushed aside to make more space and a variety of chairs, rugs, blankets and cushions brought out and spread around the hall.

"Come on," Harry said to Ron, as this was happening.  "Let's go and give them a hand in the scullery."  He grinned at his friend.  "It's pretty nippy out there, it'll wake us up a bit!"

Washing dishes was one of Ron's least favourite jobs at home, usually because of the grumpy squabbles over who would do it.  (The twins were adept at rigging the coin toss as well, which didn't help.)  But here something like a production line had been formed, with two people washing dishes at the sinks and everyone else either scraping and piling plates ready to be washed or standing by with teacloths to dry up.  Ron found himself in charge of a large, spell-warmed teacloth and a stack of glassware, while a few feet away Sirius attempted to speed up his part of the process by drying piles of wet plates with his wand; one pile of broken plates later and he was banished from the scullery to mend them.

"Honestly, men like him are more hindrance than help!" one of the women remarked with a laugh.

The well-organised approach worked, though, for the clearing up was done in what seemed like record time to Ron considering the number of people at this feast.  Then plates full of cakes and puddings were brought out, including several large figgy puddings, to be put with the rest of the food on the table in the hall.  By this time Ron could feel himself wilting at the sight of more food.

"If I eat anything else, I'll pop," Remus remarked to him in an aside, and Ron nodded his agreement.  "Still, you'll be surprised.  If you manage to stay awake until four-ish, you'll get your second wind and want to eat all over again."

Four o'clock seemed an awfully long way off at this point and Ron said as much to Harry.  "Do you reckon you'll stay awake?"

"I managed it last year, but I slept till teatime afterwards.  Everyone does," he added candidly.  "Most of the kids'll crash well before midnight and get put to sleep at the back of the hall."

The musicians and storytellers were setting up at the side of the fireplace when they returned to the hall.  Harry and Ron grabbed a couple of big cushions and a large rug and settled themselves across from Harry's family, with mugs of cider, to listen to the first of the storytellers putting an entertaining new spin on an ancient story from _The Tales Of Beedle The Bard_. 

It was probably going to be a long night, Ron thought, but this celebration beat the hell out of squabbling over a tin of toffees and listening to the Christmas broadcasts on the wireless.

 

~~~

 

Ron didn't really notice the passing of the hours until well after midnight, as there was far too much going on.  There was music and singing, both solos and in groups, and some dancing (which he was eventually persuaded to join in, despite his initial protests), and in between bouts of this everyone would sag back onto their rugs and cushions, laughing and chatting and, in more than a few cases, slowly getting tipsy as the two storytellers entertained them.

By one o'clock all of the children were tucked up at the end of the hall, and the adults began to cut loose a little.  The drink began to flow more liberally as people from the coven, like Maevi and Lily, took over from the storytellers and began to recite some of the lore associated with the magical Wicca that was their religion.

Ron was grateful then that his natural caution led him to be a little more careful with his drink, for a lot of what he heard was really very interesting and he needed to pay attention to understand it.  Maevi had her detractors, but when she wasn't piling on the emotion and melodrama for a large group ceremony, she had a good speaking voice and a way with words.  She talked easily and confidently for nearly an hour about the various winter rituals and practices of the Wicca, of the meaning of all the sacred plants, woods and animals, the goddesses, gods and demi-gods and their origins in history, and the specific rituals individuals and groups could use to propitiate these deities.  Then Lily took over to talk about spirituality, the nature of life, death and the states of existence beyond life in their beliefs.  She talked about the nature of power and the ways in which it could be used for the common good, and then touched a little upon divination and prognostication.

At this point Ron began to lose track of what she was saying, and he wasn't entirely sure if this was because he was growing tired or simply because the subject matter was really way over his head.  At any rate, he wasn't the only one and when Lily had finished her impromptu lesson one of the musicians struck up again - quietly - and there was a low-voiced sing-along.  Then Maevi's second in command, Nuala, invited everyone to help themselves to pudding and other food from the table, and Ron discovered that Remus Lupin had been right and he was definitely ready to eat again.

When they all returned to their seats - most of them, Ron and Harry included, carrying refilled mugs - one of the men had set out a kind of board game in the middle of the space before the fire and people were gathering to sit around it, making amused comments.

"Uh-oh," Harry said into Ron's ear.  "It's time for a round of "Command Me"!"

The wooden board was circular with points marked around the edge a little like a compass rose.  An arrow-shaped marker spun loosely from the centre, and in the very middle was a round cup containing a wooden ball.

Some people made a point of sitting well outside of the circle, Ron noticed, but Harry was apparently game to join in, so he sat down crossed-legged beside him and waited to see what would happen.

One of the men tapped the edge of the board with his wand and the arrow spun for several seconds before slowing and coming to a halt, pointing to one of the women halfway around the circle.  Everyone chuckled.

"Vera!"

Vera grinned nervously and reached across to tap on the ball with her wand.  It shot high into the air and for a moment it seemed like everyone was reaching out to grab it, but it was Remus who caught it as it fell.  He smiled at Vera.

"I command you to give us a song, Vera!"

Much amusement; apparently Vera was not known for her fine singing voice, but she did her best and made it through the first verse and chorus of a popular Celestina Warbeck ditty, albeit somewhat off-key.  When the catcalls had died down, she reached across and tapped the edge of the board with her wand.  The arrow spun again, this time coming to rest pointing at Harry.  He rolled his eyes as they all called his name, but reached across and tapped the ball.  It shot up into the air and this time was caught by one of the older women, who batted her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly and commanded him to give her a kiss, which he did - on the cheek, provoking many cries of "foul!".

Harry tapped the board and the arrow spun to point at Sirius.  The ball this time was caught by Maevi, who commanded him to tell them all a joke.  Sirius complied with relish and at some length, and his roundabout story involving a man, a crocodile and an aphrodisiac potion had everyone laughing until they were weak.  Then he tapped the board and the arrow whirled and came to rest pointing at Ron.

It occurred to Ron, as he reached across to tap the wooden ball, that he might possibly have had a little too much to drink for it to be wise for him to play this game.  On the other hand, he had a competitive spirit and didn't want to be seen as a bad sport, and besides, how bad could it be?

Numerous hands reached out to grab the wooden ball as it fell; one of them was the hand of a former Gryffindor Seeker.  James bounced the ball in the palm of his hand thoughtfully for a moment, then shot an unreadable look at Ron.

"I command you to tell us a secret, Ron," he said.

There was a murmur of cheerful anticipation from the rest of the group, but Ron's mind went blank.  A _secret?_   What the hell had prompted that?  But when he looked at James his expression was mildly interested, nothing else.  Not that that meant anything - Draco Malfoy had always had a good 'diplomatic' face when he was trying to lure someone into a trap.  What sort of secrets did Harry's father think he was keeping?  What sort of secret could Ron tell him, for that matter?

It wasn't lost on Ron that Harry was giving his father a very odd look.  Apparently he didn't entirely trust James's bland expression either.

If he hadn't had a fair amount to drink by this time, Ron would never have contemplated doing what he did next.  But the mulled wine and cider was stronger than he was used to, and he was tired besides, making him uncharacteristically reckless.  Thinking _Fuck it!_ Ron finished the remains of his drink in a single draught and sat up on his knees.  Ignoring Harry's questioning look, he began to unbutton his over-shirt.

"Do we want to know what secrets he has hidden under clothes?" he heard Sirius say.  "Couldn't we just ask Harry about it?"

"Hey!" Harry said sharply, glaring at his uncle.  Sirius pretended to cower, making an amused face.  Harry turned back to Ron.  "You don't have to do this."  Apparently Sirius's wording had clued him into what Ron intended.

"He asked for a secret.  This is my secret."  Ron felt proud of his indifferent tone, which was admittedly far at odds with how he really felt.  He was rather shocked at himself, in truth.  The number of people who knew this secret was pretty much limited to his immediate family and Harry; it was the most closely guarded secret of his life and he hadn't taken his t-shirt off in front of anyone but Harry in … he wasn't sure how long it was, but it was certainly since before he went to Hogwarts.  Ron unbuttoned his cuffs and began to shrug the over-shirt off.

"Ron …"

"It's okay." 

He couldn't believe he'd said that, but it didn't stop him dropping the shirt in front of him and beginning to tug the t-shirt out of the waistband of his jeans.  Then he had to stop and take a shaky breath. 

"Ron, don't."  Harry's voice was quiet, concerned, but strangely that gave Ron the courage to keep going.

He rucked the hem of his t-shirt up a little to loosen it, then reached over his head to grab a handful of the material behind his neck and pull.  The t-shirt slipped over his head easily and he pushed it off his arms roughly, thinking it was a good thing that the fire in the vast hearth heated the room so effectively.  There were goosebumps on his arms anyway, but he knew they weren't there because of the cold.

Ron glanced at Harry nervously for a moment; his friend's expression was mixed, as though he couldn't decide whether to smile at him or be angry.  He reached out and rubbed Ron's arm gently and Ron managed a half-grin.  He gathered his nerve and slid forward a little on his knees so that he had room to turn around.

There was a startled silence from the people watching him and Ron found he was grateful that he was facing away from them all.  The eyes he could feel on his back were bad enough.  He would have preferred to have presented a more relaxed appearance, as though this was nothing much to him, but that was straining his acting abilities too far.  There was no easing the tension in his shoulders as he waited for the inevitable reaction.

"Merlin!" he heard Remus say after an appreciable pause.

Someone got up and approached; Ron looked over his shoulder nervously and saw Harry mother dropping to her knees beside him.

"Ron, that's … extraordinary," she said.  Ron got the impression that she would have liked to use a different word, but her tone was gentle as though she realised what an ordeal for him this really was.  "Were you born with it?"

"Sort of," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"It was something the midwife did.  I came out the wrong way around - "

Someone made a sound like a snigger; Harry's head shot up and he flicked his fingers, and there was a tiny yelp that gave Ron a lot of satisfaction, although he had no idea who it was.

"No midwife, no matter how unskilled, could do this," Maevi's voice said.  "It's a birthmark, something that happened in the womb.  Amazing …"

"It's just a birthmark," Ron said sullenly.  "It's ugly, that's all."

"It's not ugly," Harry told him firmly.

"No, it's not," Lily agreed.  Ron looked at her disbelievingly, for he could credit Harry with wilful blindness but not her.  Her eyes were wide and thoughtful though.  "It's a phoenix … almost.  The neck stops just here, where the head would begin - "  She touched a spot in the nape of Ron's neck with a light fingertip and he twitched reflexively.  "The wings are perfect, like … hm.  Has any Seer ever told you the significance of it?"

"No."  The idea gave him the creeps.  "My Gran told my mum to keep it covered because it was a bad omen."

"Oh, it's _not!_ " one of the other women said, sounding quite indignant.  "What a load of poppycock!"

"Which grandmother was that?" Lily asked.

"Dad's mum.  She's superstitious."

"Obviously!"

"You said your other Gran told you something different," Harry prompted him, and Ron felt himself flush with embarrassment.

"Yeah, a load of crap about fairies kissing me in my cradle to give me wings!"

"I like that better than the other one's opinion," Lily said, amused.  "It would be interesting to know what it _does_ mean, Ron, don't you think?"

"It's just a birthmark," he said again, and he looked around for his t-shirt.  This had gone far enough, he thought; everyone had seen enough of his back to last him for a lifetime or more.  He wanted to put his clothes back on and everyone else to get on with the game.

"Well … perhaps so," Lily replied, and she passed him his over-shirt.

 

~~~

 

The board-game fell rather flat after that, so one of the storytellers took centre stage again with a long and complicated tale about a giant and a trickster wizard that kept everyone's attention - more or less - for an hour. 

Exhausted by his uncharacteristic burst of openness and the attention it had generated, Ron found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open.  The fire was burning lower, the giant Yule Log glowing at its heart, and many of the candles lighting the hall had dimmed, creating deep shadows.  After the storyteller, a woman with a flute took his place, playing a low and meandering tune.  Ron sprawled out on their shared rug beside Harry, their hips and shoulders pressed together, and yawned deeply, blinking.  Some of the other couples, he couldn't help noticing, were taking advantage of the shadows together.  It was tempting to think that he and Harry could stave off sleep by engaging in such activity, but not here among all these people; the shadows weren't _that_ deep.

He must have dozed for the next thing he knew Harry was nudging him gently and someone was passing around mugs of tea.

"What time is it?" he asked Harry in a muzzy whisper.

"It's nearly dawn," Harry replied.  "They're going to start waking the kids, it'll be sunrise in about half an hour."

Ron sipped his tea, listening to the sleepy grumbles of the children at the back of the room.  Slices of a spiced cake were passed around too and he devoured his gratefully.  He wasn't ravenously hungry but the tea and cake helped to clear away any lingering sleep; he wondered a little guiltily if he'd slept long.  Judging by the lack of concern Harry showed, perhaps he hadn't.  Or perhaps he wasn't the only one.

The Yule Log had burned all through the night and although the blackened mass of it was still bulky in the hearth, it too was coming to the end of its strength.  The final glow-worm wriggles of flame flickered and died just as the first hint of true dawn could be seen through the windows of the hall.  The coven made pleased - and relieved - noises and got to their feet.

"Grab your robe," Harry said.

With Maevi leading the way, they all trouped outside and stood facing east as the high priestess led them in a prayer of greeting to the new day and gratitude for the return of light.  After that, and much to Ron's relief, everyone dispersed to their various beds.

Climbing into the hayloft took the last of his energy and the chilly air of the courtyard had brought home to him the amount of alcohol he'd drunk.  Even with the heating charms it was cool up there, so they stripped to their underwear, turned a couple of kneazles off the bed and rolled into the pile of blankets.  For a while Ron lay looking up at the dimly lit rafters as they spun lazily above him.

"You okay?" Harry mumbled, long after Ron thought he'd gone to sleep.

He considered the question.  "Yeah ..."

"You didn't have to show 'em, you know.  It's nobody's business.  He shouldn't have asked."

 _He didn't have to ask that particular question,_ a small, very sober voice said inside Ron's head, _so why did he?_   It was tempting to ask Harry, but Ron was pretty sure his friend wouldn't be able to answer him.  Harry hadn't expected that question from James either, that had been obvious from the look on his face. 

"It doesn't matter," he said finally.  It _did_ matter, of course, but there was no point in making a fuss.  He'd been having a good time here with Harry and the coven; he didn't want to fall out with Harry's father over something which, after all, he'd done voluntarily.

All the same, he would have liked to know why James asked that particular question.

Harry rolled over and rubbed Ron's belly gently through his t-shirt.  "I'll make it up to you later," he said sleepily, and Ron could just make out his smile in the tiny amount of light.  "Kiss it all better and whatnot."

Just hearing the words made it better.  "I'll keep you to that."

"Hmm."  Harry's eyes slid shut and his breathing slowly evened out into sleep.

Ron smiled a little and let his own eyes drift shut.

 

~~~

 

Not everyone went straight to bed.

James and his friends returned to the hall to sit at one end of the table and watch as Peter sketched a quick but accurate reproduction of Ron's birthmark onto a sheet of parchment.

"That right?" he asked Lily, turning the bit of paper for her to see.

"I think so."

He nodded and took it back, taking a little leather bag of casting bones out of his robe pocket.  "This'll take a minute …"

Maevi approached, herding a cluster of tea mugs floating on a charm.  She set them down in front of the group and pulled up a stool.

"I must say that when I suggested you petition the Holly King, I didn't expect a result like this, James," she remarked.

"Neither did I," he said shortly.

"It's almost identical to the phoenix tapestry in Dumbledore's study," Remus commented.  "Apart from the missing head, that is.  I hope that's not significant."

"It doesn't need a head - the neck rests on _his_ neck," Lily pointed out.  "The phoenix is one of the most ancient symbols of renewal in magical lore.  That must have some bearing on his relationship with Harry."

"You think?" Sirius said dryly.  His rubbed his eyes wearily.  "I feel nearly dead …"

"Be grateful you're not," Remus told him unsympathetically.  He grabbed Sirius's left hand and turned it so that the red curse-burn on it was visible.  "Stop needling the boy, it sets Harry's back up!  I hope you noticed that he did this without his wand too."

"The phoenix is aligned with both air and fire," Maevi said to Lily and James, ignoring the other two.  "I find it curious that the boy was in Slytherin, because Slytherins usually have affinity with water.  But then I find it curious that Harry Sorted into Hufflepuff - granted he has his earth magic connection, but there's a lot of fire in him too and fire is the Gryffindor element.  Still … the significance of this birthmark can't be discounted.  The phoenix is the essence of renewal and regeneration and in conjunction with Harry's earth magic I think you definitely have part of your answer about the power they create together."

Peter sighed and gathered up the casting bones.  "All I'm getting is power," he said.  "It's almost as though the symbol is drawing power out of the air around it, in the same way that Harry can pull it out of the earth to a limited extent.  We need more information."

"Is it worth me contacting Lillian Prewett?" Lily asked Maevi, but the older woman shook her head.

"She's eccentric and unlikely to tell you anything unless she has a personal reason for doing so," she said.  "Lillian hasn't publicly practiced her arts in decades, long before this grandson of hers was born - she had a falling out with Cassandra Trelawney and since then there have been rumours of her making prophecies, but if she has the details have never been made public."

"Dumbledore might be more successful with her," James suggested.

"We have to speak to him about this anyway," Sirius added.  "He'll want to know."

"There's a simpler way of doing this," Maevi told them.  "Get the boy to speak to his grandmother.  He really should in any case - I can't understand why she hasn't told him anything about it before now, but it's obvious he hasn't a clue of the significance.  And I could slap that other grandmother of his!  Telling a lad he's carrying an ill-omen around on his back - what sort of fool is she?"  She drained her tea and got up.  "Well, I'm afraid that's my lot for at least four hours, my dears.  I need my sleep and so do you."

When she was gone, James sighed and rubbed his face.  "I'm half-dead.  Let's go to bed."

"Do we contact Dumbledore?" Sirius persisted.

James hesitated, looking at Lily.  She shrugged.

"After Yule," he said finally.  "Lils - will you try to speak to Ron about that birthmark?  Or Harry even?  It's no good me trying to have a meaningful chat with them, they both think I have ulterior motives now."  Which was difficult for him to admit, but it was the truth.  He'd seen the look on Harry's face.

"I'll try, but I don't promise anything," Lily said, making a face.  "And I'm certainly not going to corner him about it straight away.  I'd say he'll be extremely twitchy about it for a while - he obviously doesn't show it to everyone and who can blame him?"

"Let's say we'll plan to try and find an opportunity in the next few days," Remus said firmly, "and inform Dumbledore after Yule, regardless of the result.  Yes?"

"Works for me," Peter said.  He juggled his casting bones in his hand for a moment, looking at the drawing indecisively.  Then he sighed and put them back into their bag.  "It's no good, I'm too tired and I don't think I'll get any more from this anyway."

"Fair enough."  James pushed his mug away and stood up.  "I'm for my bed.  See you all later - a _lot_ later, if I have any say in the matter."

 

~~~

 

The next couple of days were full of rambling walks through the fields and woods around the commune with Harry, and partying in the evenings.  Ron enjoyed it all, although he wondered quite frequently what it was about this celebration that made it so much less of an ordeal than Christmas with his own family would be.  Certainly it wasn't because of the lack of quarrels - he was entertained to see just about every family group in the commune have a flare up at each other at some point over the handful of days that he was there and it all sounded very much like the snappiness that he heard between his own relatives when they were forced to spend an extended period together in close quarters.

He and Harry at least managed to avoid falling out with each other; they were too busy having fun.  There was an impromptu Quidditch match the afternoon following the Yule party, in which Harry and James ended up on opposing teams (due to them both being Seekers) and Ron found himself being Keeper on James's team.  Any anxiety about this was mitigated by the fun he had playing against Harry again and although Harry's team won in the end, it was a narrow victory.

The two of them accompanied Lily and a couple of the other residents into Totnes on the 23rd December, to sell some of the commune's produce at a Christmas street market, and they had a lot of fun poking around the Muggle shops there, although in many cases Ron thought they and the people walking about were almost wizard-like in their appearance.

He said as much to Lily, who was Muggleborn and replied rather cryptically, "Sometimes I think this is where the 1960s came to die, only _mostly_ minus the ugly prints and drug-culture."

Ron looked to Harry for an explanation of this, but Harry only shrugged so he let it pass. 

Christmas Eve dawned and although the air was a little warmer, it was a damp sort of day, not actually raining but drizzling heavily.  This trapped many members of the coven inside the house through their reluctance to get wet, but Harry took one look at the milling adults and grumpy children and suggested to Ron that they grab their cloaks and go out.

"Anything's better than being stuck listening to that lot," he remarked as they strolled along the path towards the Holy Oak.

Ron laughed.  "You want to hear griping?  You come and listen to Percy giving us all a run-down on all the _incompetence_ he reckons he has to deal with at work.  All through Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day.  No wonder Fred and George start setting off dungbombs."

"What time are you planning to leave?" Harry asked him presently.

Ron grimaced.  "As late as I can risk it, mate.  When do you want to kick me out?"

"You can stay here as long as you like, you know that," Harry told him.  "The invite was for the whole of Yule, including the Oak King's celebration after the new moon."

He was tempted - was he ever tempted!  But it wasn't possible.

"I reckon Mum'd throttle me," he said regretfully.  "Dinner tonight is about six o'clock, so I reckon I'd better skip off about five-ish."

Harry bumped shoulders with him gently.  "You can always come back if it gets too much."

"Don't tempt me!"

They approached the Holy Oak again which even in this dismal weather had its own kind of majesty.

"Sure you don't want a shag under the oak before you go?" Harry teased.

"I reckon I'll pass this time 'round," Ron said, but he grabbed Harry and pushed him gently back up against the massive trunk.  "I'll take a snog though ..."

 

~~~

 

When Ron was ready to leave, he was surprised at the number of people who came to the great hall to see him off.  He shook hands with Harry's father and uncles, submitted to being kissed and blessed by Maevi and the other priestesses of the coven, and then turned to Lily.  She smiled at him and held up a small round basket covered with a red-checked cloth.

"Some mince pies for your mother from me," she told him, then she tucked her free hand through his arm.  "Harry has your portkey.  Let's go outside."

The drizzle had given over by this time, to be replaced by much colder temperatures, and the lights on the holly tree in the courtyard were oddly fuzzy in appearance where the heat they gave off met the cold air.  Ron stood in the patch of light from the doorway with Harry on one side and Lily on the other, and breathed in the cold air.  He could feel himself bracing a little inwardly for his arrival at The Burrow already.

"About your birthmark," Lily said, and he tensed for an entirely different reason.  She squeezed his arm.  "Don't do that!  It's not ugly, truly, and I don't think you should be ashamed of it, Ron - rather the reverse.  The phoenix is a very powerful symbol, you know."

"Mum ..." Harry said in a warning tone.

"I'm not going to say much about it," Lily retorted.  She smiled up at Ron.  "I know it took a lot of courage to show it to us - don't think we didn't realise that, especially James.  He's afraid he upset you, but please believe me - he didn't mean to."

Ron didn't know what to say to this, but Lily didn't seem to expect an answer.  She hugged his arm again affectionately.

"A word of advice," she said.  "You'll be surprised what you can gain from being a little more open with people, like you were then.  And I think you should speak your mind more often.  I can tell that you bottle up the things that upset you, but I think you'll find that people will respect you more if you simply say something, instead of letting it fester.  Even your mum!  You don't have to get angry, just be firm."  She reached up and kissed his cheek, smiling at him, and handed him the little basket.  "Merry Christmas, Ron!"

When she was gone, Ron blinked at Harry.  "What was that about?"

Harry shrugged.  "She was being Mum!" he said, sounding both annoyed and amused.  "Don't let it bug you."  He dipped a hand into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a butterbeer cork which he handed to Ron.  "Portkey - it's a one-shot, so you can chuck it away when you get home."

"Thanks."  Ron held it gingerly.  "I s'pose I'll see you in the New Year sometime, yeah?"

"I hope so."  Harry smiled.  "I'll write and let you know where we are, if I don't see you before we take off.  Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."  The words made Ron feel a little melancholy, but there was nothing to be done about it as he well knew.  "You have a good New Year, mate, eh?"

"And you."  Harry reached up and kissed him warmly.  Then he stepped back.  "Go on - you'd better go, before I drag you back into the hayloft.  Three - two - one - "

His mischievous smile was the last thing Ron saw before the portkey whisked him away.

 

~~~

 

Ron landed sharply on the gravel path outside his parents' house, and took a moment to breathe deeply and feel the lingering tingle of Harry's kiss. 

Damn.  He still didn't want to be here.

"There you are," a voice drawled.

Ron turned sharply, staring into the darkness, and saw the cherry-red tip of a cigarette.  Then his eyes adjusted and he could just about make out his brother Bill in the shadows.

"Mum'll kill you if she catches you smoking."

"So what?"  Bill sounded amused.  "It's not like I live here anymore.  And she'll kill _you_ if you're not through that door in the next twenty minutes.  Or so she told me when I came out here."

Ron sighed.  "I came home for Christmas, like I promised.  What more does she want?"

"A white wedding to a nice girl and a brace of red-headed grandchildren, you know that.  Which I hear she's not likely to get from you anytime soon.  I hope he's worth it."

Ron felt his face heat up despite the lack of condemnation in his brother's voice.  "I reckon he is," he said defiantly.

"Good."  Surprised, Ron watched as Bill took a last drag on the cigarette, then pitched the butt-end into an old rusted cauldron next to the door.  "Come on, we'd better go in.  Gran's here, by the way."

Ron suppressed a groan.  "Yeah, I know.  Mum said she was coming."  He braced himself inwardly, for Granny Weasley was … difficult. 

Bill cuffed his shoulder gently.  "Nice robe, by the way."

"I like it," Ron said irritably.

"Hey, so do I!  Don't be so touchy, mate, not everyone thinks you'd look better in a nice set of pinstripes."

"Right."  But Ron relaxed a little, warmed in spite of himself by Bill's affection.  "It was a Yule present from Harry and his mum."

"Mum said she's a coven witch.  What do you reckon to it all?"

There was a narrow beam of light filtering through the crack between the door and the jamb that just highlighted the planes of Bill's face.  Ron wasn't sure what to make of his expression.

"Dunno," he said warily.  "They're all right to me.  It was a lot of fun."

Bill nodded.  "That's what I thought, the first time I stayed with a mate's family who were part of a coven.  Even thought about joining them for a while."

The surprises just kept coming, although it wasn't as though he'd spent enough time with Bill before to really get a clear idea of what he was like.

"I don't reckon I'll be doing that anytime soon, but they're okay," he said.

Bill nodded.  "Good.  Come on, let's go inside.  It's a bit too nippy out here for me."

Ron followed him through the door reluctantly.  Heat slapped him in the face and the kitchen seemed to be heaving with people, although in reality it was just his mother, sister and two sisters-in-law bustling about.

"About time you got here, Ron Weasley!" his mother scolded, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek.  "What in the world are you wearing?"

Ron decided to ignore this question in favour of putting the basket of pastries down on a spare corner of the kitchen table.  "Harry's mum sent you some mince pies," he said.

"Very kind of her, I'm sure," Mrs. Weasley said in a rather disapproving tone.

He had an urge to point out that they were _good_ mince pies, but bit down on the inside of his cheek.  He didn't have to justify anything, he told himself, and when he looked up it was to see a sympathetic smile on Bill's face.

"Where did you get that weird robe?" Ginny wanted to know as she sidled around him to grab a potholder from the hook over the range.  "It makes you look like a hippy.  And what's that smell?"

"It's just herbs," Ron muttered, annoyed.

"Ron, there isn't room for another person in here," Percy's wife Penny told him, looking frazzled.  "Bill, please take him into the sitting room or something!"

"Go and say hello to your grandmother," Mrs. Weasley admonished, and Ron sighed.

The sitting room really _was_ full of people, at least half of them Charlie and Percy's offspring.  The twins let out jeering catcalls as soon as they saw their younger brother.

"Bloody hell, Ron, what do you look like?"

"Don't wear that in the shop, you'll scare the customers away!"

Ron ignored them, instead nodding to Percy and Charlie and pausing by his father's chair.  "'Lo, Dad.  Merry Christmas."

Arthur Weasley looked up at him, studied the robe and smiled.  "Nice robe, son.  Merry Christmas."

Ron smiled reluctantly when he saw the good-humoured glint in his father's eyes.  "Where's Gran?"

"Over in the corner there," Arthur said, pointing to the seat set into the nook under the stairs.

Ron looked across … and blinked.  Not Granny Weasley after all.  Granny Prewett.

He hadn't seen her in over two years, and in truth he hadn't really thought about her much in that time other than to write a brief thank-you note when she sent him birthday or Christmas presents.  But when she saw him looking she smiled and held out her hands, and Ron suddenly realised that he'd actually missed her quite a lot.

Ignoring the twins' persistent remarks and Percy's disapproving stare, he dumped his rucksack next to his father's chair and went over to her.

"Well, here you are at last!" she said, clasping his hands.  She was a tiny, birdlike little person, as unlike his mother as she could possibly be.

"Hullo Gran."  Ron kissed her cheek and crouched down beside her chair.  He smiled a little shyly when she reached out and ran a gentle hand over his bright hair.  "Merry Christmas."

She looked over the top of her spectacles at him with a knowing smile, and touched his cheek.  "How's my fairy prince?" she asked him fondly, just as she had when he was a little boy.

Ron heard Fred snigger at the childhood nickname, but found he didn't care.  _You'll be surprised what you can gain from being a little more open with people,_ Lily Evans had told him kindly, _and I think you should speak your mind more often._ He wondered if this was what she meant.

"I reckon I'm a bit more of a fairy than the last time you saw me, Gran," he admitted, ignoring the reaction of his brothers to the words, but she only stroked his cheek again.

"Molly says you've been staying with a coven for Yule," she said.  "We'll have a long chat later, hm?  You can tell me all about it."

"That'd be great," he replied, and he was surprised to realise that it really would be great after all.

 

 **  
_~ finis ~_   
**


End file.
